


Never Conquered, Rarely Came

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Assisted Suicide, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally, this is the part where Will would pick up his cell phone and leave an anonymous tip on the police crime hotline, tell them there was a cannibalistic serial murderer lurking around the area code of the phone number given in the ad. But not today. Not when his very bones ache and all the raw and bruised places on his skin throb in time with his pulse. Not when exhaustion is slowly eating away at him in a way that has nothing to do with how little he slept last night.<br/>Not when these ink-stains on his fingertips and the man behind them are his last chance to get away.</p><p>Fill for HannibalKink for this prompt: "Will is in an abusive relationship but can't see a way out - he's tried to leave before, but his partner is in law enforcement and always manages to track him down while pretending to be the understanding, forgiving, loving type. One day, Will stumbles across an ad in the Classifieds of the cleverly worded cannibal-seeking-fresh-meat-but-veiled-as-private-cooking-classes type, and decides to answer. Hannibal is pleased when his ad bears fruit, then surprised when his intended dinner apparently knows exactly what he's in for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel may be found posted as the second chapter!

The ad would want you to think it was just for private cooking lessons, but it's laced with poorly disguised jokes. Clearly whoever wrote it thinks they're clever. Will skims his fingertips over the newspaper, lets the ink stain his skin, closing his eyes and trying to see the man behind the ad.

He's middle-aged, if not older. He's been luring people in and butchering them for quite a while now—decades, probably, judging by the cockiness of his advertisement. Most pattern killers like that grow bored after a while, sociopathic narcissism or psychopathic need to explain their motives driving them to do increasingly risky things to get the attention of the police, in order to receive the proper credit for their crimes. This man wasn't a psychopath, though, nor a sociopath. He just simply...enjoys murder.

Normally, this is where Will would pick up his cell phone and leave an anonymous tip on the police crime hotline, tell them there was a cannibalistic serial murderer lurking around the area code of the phone number given in the ad.

But not today. Not when his very bones ache and all the raw and bruised places on his skin throb in time with his pulse. Not when exhaustion is slowly eating away at him in a way that has nothing to do with how little he slept last night.

Not when these ink-stains on his fingertips and the man behind them are his last chance to get away.

* * *

“Is this...” Will squints down at the ad. “Doctor Lecter?”

“Yes. How may I help you?” The man has a pretty heavy accent—Eastern European, maybe, something Baltic. Maybe the brutality of the Soviets had been where he’d picked up his little cannibal habit.

“I was calling about your ad in the classified—the cooking lessons?”

“Ah, yes.” Will can almost _see_ the smile creeping across this Dr. Lecter’s expression.

“When is the next lesson you have available?”

“I usually give lessons on Friday evenings and during the day Saturday.”

Will sighs. Friday is two days away, and he’s not sure he has anything left in himself to hold on to for that long.

Dr. Lecter must understand Will’s sudden silence. “But if you need something sooner, I am sure we could come to an agreeable date. What works best for you?”

“Tonight.” Tonight, because the only thing Will really knows is that he can’t do this anymore.

“It is a bit short notice, but I believe I can accommodate that. Is tonight at six-thirty acceptable? Is there anything particular you wish to learn?”

Will has to fight back the sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Sounds good. And uh, I don’t really know anything about cooking besides how to fry fish and boil water.”

“It is of no concern. I must warn you, I only accept payment cash—is that fine?”

“Yeah.” At this point, Dr. Lecter could probably have asked for a blank check with his signature in blood on it and Will wouldn’t have hesitated. “Ninety-five dollars, right?”

“Exactly. Do you have a pen and paper nearby? I will provide you with my address...”

* * *

Dr. Lecter’s house is nicer than Will had expected; it’s almost a mansion, really, in one of Baltimore’s wealthiest neighbourhoods. He managed to feel even more out of place than usual when he gets off the bus in his plaid flannel and worn-out jeans (Will had been treated to a black eye that took two weeks to heal the last time he tried to ask for money to buy new clothes, and he hadn’t dared to ask again after that).

“Hello,” Dr. Lecter greets when he pulls the front door open, smiling politely. Will was right; he’s middle-aged, Caucasian, nicely dressed. Cocky bastard who’s been doing this for a long time. “You must be Will. My kitchen is through this way—”

“Don’t,” Will interrupts quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know what you are.”

The doctor pauses, head tilting ever so slightly as he locks the door. “And what am I?” His expression remains stoic. Unreadable. He’s probably spent a lifetime wearing this very carefully tailored disguise.

“Cannibal serial killer.”

“That is quite a leap—from hobbyist chef offering culinary lessons to a murderer,” Dr. Lecter says, tone casual, detached and disinterested, like they were discussing the weather and he found it _boring_.

“I—I could tell from your ad. You kept making little cannibal jokes. It’s a perfect set-up, offering cooking lessons, luring people in like that, so you can kill them and eat them.” At least Will’s voice has stopped shaking so badly.

“Do you plan on informing the police?”

Will laughs unsteadily. “No. I plan on letting you do whatever it is you wanted to.”

Dr. Lecter’s stoic expression shatters a little, genuine surprise showing. “Why?”

“Because I want to die, and at least this way my body won’t go to waste. Like I’m donating my body to science. It makes me feel a little better about the suicide while fully able-bodied  when there are a hell of lot of people who’d give anything to have what I have thing, you know?” He cracks a smile that he knows probably just looks more manic than anything.

Dr. Lecter takes a step closer to him and inhales deeply.

“Did you just... _smell_ me?” Will asks slowly, incredulous.

“Yes. I wanted to make sure you were not intoxicated. Neurotoxins like alcohol and psychotropic drugs will ruin a good cut of meat, you know.” Dr. Lecter looks perfectly serious, and Will isn’t sure whether he should laugh at that or if he should be terrified.

“Well. Uh, where do we do this?” asks Will. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly.  “And how?”

“Usually I snap the neck, unless I have specific plans for a particular individual. Less mess, you see. I confess that I had no particular plan for you. Where would you be comfortable?”

Will shrugs and glances around the dark, artsy decor of Dr. Lecter’s home. “Here is, uh, good.” Really, he hadn’t been expecting any kind of choice to be offered to him.

“Remove your clothing,” Dr. Lecter commands quietly.

“What?” Will freezes.

“It is very difficult to undress a corpse.”

“Oh.” Once again, Will is struck with an urge to giggle at how fucking insane this all is, but he pulls his shirt off anyways, folds it up neatly and lays it on the floor.

Dr. Lecter reaches out and stills Will’s hand when Will goes to undo his belt, the doctor’s eyes trailing over all the scars, burns, bruises, and other injuries Will’s collected along his upper arms and torso.

“I, uh, already come tenderised, so you won’t have to worry about that, I guess,” Will jokes. It sounds ridiculous and horrifyingly inappropriate even to his ears, one of those absurd dark things he says sometimes that made everyone around him stop and stare in that “ _oh my God, you don’t just_ say _shit like that_ ” sort of way.

“How did you get all these?” It’s a question, but Will can tell that Dr. Lecter probably already knows the answer.

“I have an, uh, excellent partner.”

“He abuses you.” Something is shifting in Dr. Lecter’s expression, something Will can’t quite figure out, and the doctor goes statue-still for a long minute.

“Yeah.” Will’s voice cracks and all the adrenalin that had been holding off the exhaustion drains from his body. He’s tired again, suddenly, all his energy leeched from his body. “Yeah.”

Dr. Lecter drags a long finger along Will’s collarbone and traces the finger-shaped bruises where Will had been strangled last week. “How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Is this...why you came to me?”

“Ever try to run from a cop, Doctor?” Will laughs harshly. “They call him a pillar of the damned community, for Christ’s sakes. Who do you think everyone believes when I try say something or get help? They think he’s this perfect, loving man who keeps trying to take care of a neurotic head-case. And every time I run, every time I am _finally free_ , he finds me. And you know? He’s always nice for those first few days. It’s easy to believe him. Fuck, sometimes I want to believe him.”

“And you decided you had had enough.” Dr. Lecter’s tilting his head again. Thinking. “You saw death as your only option to escape.”

“Yeah.” Will feels light-headed and sick suddenly, like his knees are going to buckle out from underneath him and he’s going to start fucking crying like a little kid. “Decided I could do with one of those nice permanent naps.”

Dr. Lecter drops his gaze to a collection of scabbed-over cigarette burns along Will’s side. “Do those burns hurt?”

Will shrugs, lolls his head on his shoulders.

“They are second-degree burns. You should really have them covered with a sterile bandage.”

“You’re not gonna kill me?” Will isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or not.

Dr. Lecter doesn’t offer any reply. “Come. My first aid kit is in the kitchen.”

* * *

“Ow,” Will mumbles, watching Dr. Lecter sink to his knees in front of where Will leans against the marble countertop, to dab at the burns with burn cream.

“Do you have a favourite food, Will?” Dr. Lecter asks quietly.

It’s been forever since anyone asked Will what he wants, and it takes him a moment to realise Dr. Lecter probably is waiting for an answer. “I like, uh, pasta.”

The doctor laughs a little at that, but it’s not cruel or mocking. “Then we shall have pasta.”

Will stares at Dr. Lecter, thinking. “Can you make pasta from people?”

“No, not unless one went to the trouble of using a centrifuge to separate the blood and used the resultant plasma with water. It would be time-consuming, and of course the recipe would have to be adapted, because of the viscosity of plasma, but there would be no real difference in the pasta. A lot of work for no noticeable result.”

“And...have you done that before?”

“I have. But I believe I have been very rude by keeping you so long and not offering you anything to eat, and as it seems my dinner plans have been changed, perhaps you would enjoy sharing a meal with me.” Dr. Lecter presses medical tape around the gauze he places over the burns gently.

“Your dinner plans have changed?”

Dr. Lecter smiles up at Will. “Good company is hard to find, you know. Meat is commonplace. And I believe,” he says, voice pitched a little lower, eyes dropping to the myriad of wounds and scars along Will’s skin, “that there is a far more deserving piece of meat that is just _waiting_ for my knife.”


	2. Tomorrow Holds Such Better Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It suddenly hits Will that he doesn’t know why he’s arguing with Dr. Lecter over this. He doesn’t want to go home and face the inevitable fighting. He doesn’t want to go anywhere but to sleep, actually, and Dr. Lecter’s guest bedroom is probably way more comfortable than where Will’s been sleeping on the living room floor.

When Will finally looks up at the clock from Dr. Lecter’s dinner table, it’s eight-thirty PM, and he feels his stomach bottom out.

He’s going to have to go home after this, and Will’s going to have to face _him_ after Will left without permission and came back late from a strange man’s house.

Dr. Lecter must notice how instantly Will retreats into himself at the thought, because he sets down his wine glass and brushes his fingertips over Will’s forehead. “Do you feel well?”

“Yeah.” Will tries to fake a smile, but he knows it looks forced. “I have to go now.” But he doesn’t stand up or even move from his seat.

“Will,” Dr. Lecter says softly. “You do not have to leave. I have a guest bedroom you may stay in.”

“No, I really... I really have to go.”

“If you will not stay for your own sake, then stay for mine. It would be in poor taste to let you return to such a toxic environment.”

“I...” It suddenly hits Will that he doesn’t know why he’s arguing with Dr. Lecter over this. He doesn’t want to go home and face the inevitable fighting. He doesn’t want to go anywhere but to sleep, actually, and Dr. Lecter’s guest bedroom is probably way more comfortable than where Will’s been sleeping on the living room floor. “Okay.” Besides, Will hadn’t brought the money for the return bus trip—he hadn’t exactly been imagining he’d need it.

Dr. Lecter offers him a tight-lipped smile. “Good.”

* * *

The caller ID on Hannibal’s phone says that Will Graham is calling him, but a glance down the hallway reassures Hannibal that Will is sleeping soundly in the guest room. Unusual, but if Will was certain he was going to die tonight, perhaps he left his phone behind.

“Dr. Lecter speaking,” Hannibal says, answering the call smoothly.

“Oh. Hello. Is Will Graham there?” It’s a male voice with an indistinguishable East Coast American accent and the faint rasp of a smoker of cheap cigarettes.

“Who is this?” Hannibal already has his hypothesis, but he’d like confirmation.

“Adam Graham. Will is my partner. He went missing last night and didn’t take his phone, and your number was the most recent one he called. I wondered if you knew were with him, or if you knew where he was.”

Ah. There’s a tinge of anger and avarice that this man’s voice that he can’t quite hide. Hannibal leers and reclines further in his leather chair. “No, regretfully enough, I do not know. Will and I parted ways at eight o’clock last night.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you two doing?” Then, quickly, clearly afraid it had been too dangerously possessive-sounding: “Will is mentally ill, and sometimes he runs away when he gets too caught up in his mind. I’m just worried that that’s what happened again.”

“It is because of Will’s mental illness that he came to me—I am a psychiatrist. Normally my office is only open during standard business hours, but Will sounded rather distressed when he made the appointment, so I made an exception,” Hannibal lies easily. He’s seen psychoses and neuroses of all kinds before, and the worst he might say about Will Graham is that he has middling table manners and underdeveloped social skills.

“Oh.” The man exhales, and it sounds strained. Clearly worried that Hannibal has seen right through him. “Did he tell you if he was going anywhere?”

Hannibal takes a minute to consider all the delicious possibilities he was being presented with. “I am not able to say.”

“Why not?” Impetuous. Clearly getting irritated. _Rude_.

“Will spoke to me as a psychiatrist. I am bound by doctor-patient confidentiality.” Hannibal will have to forge a few documents and adjust his schedule now, but it is a small sacrifice.

“Look, I’m a cop. I’m just worried about him, you know?” Desperation seeps into the man’s tone now. Fearful that his lies are crumbling around him. How very... _amateur_.

“If you are so concerned,” Hannibal says slowly, “and you are truly a police officer, I recommend you file a missing persons report and open an investigation. Only then am I able to reveal anything.”

A better man, Hannibal muses, would hang up, inform the proper authorities, direct Will to an abuse shelter, and let Mr. Adam Graham sit in a prison cell for a very, very long time to think about what he did.

Hannibal Lecter is not a better man.

“Before you ask another question, allow me this one. Tell me, does beating him make you feel less inadequate, Mr. Graham, or does it just place further emphasis on your failures?”

Before Adam has a chance to stop stammering and give a coherent reply, Hannibal hits ‘End Call.’

* * *

Hannibal has debated a thousand different ways to spread Adam Graham's corpse out, but staring at the strangled corpse sprawled on the cheap carpeting of the Virginia house he'd once shared with Will, Hannibal decides this one doesn't deserve his artistry.

Moreover, he knows that while Will has so far seemed willing to overlook Hannibal's more unusual hobbies, there are likely limits to that. Will has been traumatised quite enough by this life; Hannibal would loathe to add to his collection of scars. No amount of fresh meat is worth so high a price.

Hannibal is cold, certainly, but not unnecessarily cruel.

* * *

All good dreams have to end.

It’s something Will is all too acutely aware of.

Eventually, the gentleness will always stop and the promises to change will always turn out to only be more lies, no matter how badly Will wishes to believe them, and Will will inevitably be left broken and bleeding on the floor, because that’s how things always end for him.

Waking up in an empty bed with clean, soft sheets and no aching new bruises that would force him to take two Tylenol if he wanted to function, in a house that was a two hour drive from his nightmare of a home—that’s like a goddamned _fairy tale_. That’s something that didn’t happen in even his best dreams.

It’s hard to find motivation to get out of bed when for the first time in years he feels almost well-rested, but Will manages to do it, fumbling into yesterday’s clothes and tip-toeing into the kitchen, where he can hear quiet piano music playing and Dr. Lecter cooking.

“Ah, you are awake.” Dr. Lecter grins at Will and turns from stirring something in a skillet to pour him a cup of coffee. “Good. Breakfast is almost finished.”

Will hesitantly takes a seat on a barstool at the counter. He’s almost afraid that if he makes any sudden movement, this entire scene is going to shatter like a dream and he’s going to wake back up in his own house.

“Do you like eggs, Will?”

“Uh, yeah. Eggs are good.”

Dr. Lecter slides half of whatever he’s cooking in the skillet onto a plate and offers it to Will, grabbing a fork from a drawer. “Egg and sausage protein scramble.”

Will stabs a piece of sausage on the tines of his fork and stares at it. “Is it people-sausage?”

“Do not ask questions that you do not want answers to, Will,” Dr. Lecter chides, tone still kind and mild. Like he’s reprimanding a curious child.

“What if I want the answer?” Will chews the sausage slowly. It’s pretty damned delicious, but it doesn’t taste noticeably different from any pork he’s ever had. “What if I really want to know if it’s people-sausage?”

Dr. Lecter plates his own portion carefully. “Then I will tell you that I prepared this sausage with a variety of organs and other entrails I gathered from human remains.

Will deliberately takes his next bite slowly. He’s almost sort of...disappointed that it tastes so similar to plain pork. “Did you kill Adam?”

At that, Dr. Lecter pauses. Goes still again. Tilts his head imperceptibly. “Would you be upset if I had?”

“No. Maybe. That’s... It’s—No. I wouldn’t. I think.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s complicated. But—I guess... No.”

“You are safe now, Will. And you will always be safe.” Dr. Lecter settles his hand on Will’s shoulder gently, pulling back at Will’s instinctive flinch.

Will bites back an inappropriate laugh. “You know, even if you didn’t kill him, I have nothing to be scared of anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I think you’ve decided you’re my new bodyguard.”

The corners of Dr. Lecter’s mouth turn up in a well-hidden smile. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. And you’re far scarier than he ever was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title, once again, taken from "Adam's Song" by Blink-182, which is also where Will's partner gets his name.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments; I wish I could reply to them all and say thank you individually, but regretfully, I just don't have the time that would require right now. ( ;_; )
> 
> I have tried to handle everything about Will's past relationship as sensitively as possible, but please don't hesitate to say something (you can message me privately [here on Tumblr](http://claricemstarlings.tumblr.com/sub) or leave a comment) if you have any sort of concern/comment/et cetera.

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt: "Will is in an abusive relationship but can't see a way out - he's tried to leave before, but his partner is in law enforcement and always manages to track him down while pretending to be the understanding, forgiving, loving type. One day, Will stumbles across an ad in the Classifieds of the cleverly worded cannibal-seeking-fresh-meat-but-veiled-as-private-cooking-classes type, and decides to answer. Hannibal is pleased when his ad bears fruit, then surprised when his intended dinner apparently knows exactly what he's in for. Then Will pulls off his shirt so they can get started, apologizing for the scars and awkwardly cracking a joke about coming pre-tenderized when he sees Hannibal go still. Much to Will's surprise, his wounds are treated and he's served a surprisingly delicious meal instead of becoming dinner himself because Hannibal's decided he'd rather keep Will around - after all, there's a much more deserving piece of meat just waiting for his knife."
> 
> The title comes from Blink-182's "Adam's Song."
> 
> Edit: I just want to establish that Hannibal's relationship with Will is in no way healthy. He's a serial killer, after all, and when he says that "a better man would direct Will to an abuse shelter," it's a genuine sentiment. Their relationship is still unbalanced and unhealthy, just not physically abusive.


End file.
